Cupid's Arrow Doesn't Work On Laguz
by Tainted Light
Summary: Didn't you ever wonder just exactly how Shinon got to be on Daein's side? To repay a life debt to a laguz, that's how. Curious? Disbelieving? Then read Lenaya's story. ShinonxOC
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Lenaya skipped through the forest, feeling unreasonably happy. She didn't know why she was happy, she just was. Her dark blue hair (1) bounced with every step she took, and her dark blue cloak flowed out behind her. In her hand she carried a woven basket, empty. She sighed as she remembered why she was there. She had been sent out by Rilka, her master, to find more herbs for cooking. Her dark red eyes spotted a patch of mint and she crouched down. She began plucking small groups off the bush, but jerked her hand back when she felt something wet. She glanced down at her hands to find a red liquid smeared across her fingertips. She sniffed it cautiously and grimaced. Blood. She glanced around and found a trail of blood on the ground. She felt her stomach drop as she slowly stood. She hesitated and then sat back down. Living in Daein had taught her that ignoring things like this helped you live longer.

To her irritation, she found that the blood was on all of the herbs she needed. After the fifth bush she gave up. Her basket was full anyways, and it was getting late. As she turned to walk in the opposite direction, something very strangely colored caught her eye. It was bright pink, right next to her foot. It almost looked like hair. As she kneeled down and touched it she found that it _was_ hair. She quickly pushed the bush in front of her away from her eyes. She gasped. There in front of her lay a man. A very attractive man, I might add. He had long pink/red hair and pale skin with deep green clothing. A broken bow lay beside him, so she figured he had to be an archer. His clothing had deep stains in the stomach and chest areas, turning the cloth black. She realized with a start that he was lying in a pool of blood, and was obviously the source of the blood trail.

She knelt by the man, wondering what on earth to do with him. If she took him home she'd have to care for both him and Rilka. That old man was enough on his own. Besides, who knows if he'd even appreciate it? Not many people did anymore. She chewed on her thumbnail as she thought. **Is he even alive? **She slowly reached for his arm and put two fingers on his wrist. She felt a very slight pulse and sighed. She gently placed his arm back down and stood. She sighed in defeat. **I might as well. Who knows? It could be fun. He's kinda cute. **She kneeled down again and lifted him onto her back like she was giving him a piggyback ride. She braced him against a tree as she tied her basket to her cloak. She looked back at the pool of blood. **I hope I'm doing the right thing. Helping random people dying of blood loss in a war isn't the smartest thing to do. **She shook her head and headed back down the trail to her master's home.

(Line)

So? What do you think? I might have to re-write the beginning….

*shrugs* Whatever. Oh, and which ever story gets the most hits first, gets updated first. So review for you're favorite!

(1)= Her hair is pretty much like Mist's, except the two pieces of hair that hang down are longer then her's.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Saved or Screwed?**

Shinon groaned, pain alighting in his veins. It hurt just to lie there. He tried to open his eyes, but found he couldn't. He lay silent and tried to figure out where the hell he was. He could hear voices, a man and a woman. He was too far away to hear them properly, but he could tell they were fighting about something. No other noise met his ears but the sound of the breeze rustling the curtains. He could smell herbs of some kind, incense perhaps. He realized that he was bleeding as well, the coppery smell filling his senses. All he remembered was that the mercenary band he had been employed by was crap. Honestly, he was surprised they had survived that long. Then those Daein had shown up...he frowned. By all rights he should be dead. He stilled as he heard the door open, the voices suddenly clear.

"I don't care! I won't let you throw him out, especially how he is now!" He suppressed a flinch as she slammed the door shut. He could hear her breathing coming out too fast, like she had been running. They had been arguing for awhile. She sighed heavily as she fell into something beside him. He figured it was a chair of some kind. She said nothing for awhile, allowing her breathing to slow. He was tempted to sit up and demand to know where he was. Two reasons kept him from doing such. One; he didn't think he could sit up. Two; he had a feeling she had just saved his ass. She finally murmured something under her breath, then stood and walked away from him. He heard clinking of glass, maybe porcelain, then she was standing beside him again. He bit his tongue to keep down a yelp as her ice cold hands touched his ribcage. He bit down harder as she unwrapped his bandages, the fire of his pain turning to an inferno. Her hands never stopped unwrapping, seemingly innocent to his plight. He couldn't hold in a hiss of pain as she lifted his back slightly to get the last off. She paused and put the back of her hand to his forehead. She made a contented sound.

"Good, the fever's broken." He inwardly frowned. He had been sick? He felt her hands on him again, wet and slimy this time. Though the coolness of the...'stuff' eased his pain a little, he felt it renewed when she pushed none too gently into his wound. His control snapped and he forced his eyes open, glaring at her. He paused to take in her appearance. She was very slight, probably only 5' 5". He highly doubted she weighed 130 pounds. She had navy blue hair cut short, with her bangs hanging in two separate pieces past her shoulders. They were kept apart from her hair by two silver clips of vine. She had pale skin, interrupted now and then by pale scars. Her eye's were shaped like a cat's, a striking garnet red color. She was deeply concentrated on whatever she was doing and didn't notice his glare until he moved slightly. She glanced up and froze, eyes widening slightly. His glare deepened when she didn't move away from him. He tried to sit up, but soft hands immediately pushed him back. He opened his mouth but paused when she glared at him, absent strength now flickering in her gaze.

"You're mad at me, I get it. Lay still, or you're abdomen will rupture again." He raised an eyebrow. He tried to say, "again?", but only coughed hoarsely. She disappeared for a moment, then was back with a bowl of water pressed to his lips. She put a hand under his neck and lifted so he could swallow. He glared at her heatedly through the whole ordeal. She merely rolled her eyes, a small smile on her lips. When he was finished, she set the bowl on a table near them. He finally found his voice as she resumed her 'treatment'.

"Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Lenaya."

"Where are we?"

"Near the border of Daein." He frowned. How did he get that far from his mercenary group? A thought hit him.

"Am I in Crimea?" She paused.

"No..." He growled.

"What?! You're Daein?!" She stopped and looked him in the eye.

"What does it matter?"

"Trust me, it matters!" From his exploits with the Greil Mercenaries, he had a bounty on his head from the King. If anyone recognized him in the state he was in, he was a dead man. She rolled her eyes. He grunted in pain as she pressed more of the stuff into his wounds.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Oh, hush! I liked you better when you couldn't talk!" He glared at her.

"Just. Answer. Me." She looked at him.

"Your almost as bad as Rilka." He raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind. If you simply **must **know, I'm putting honey-sage and wolf's fur into your wounds. You're flesh isn't healing properly."

"...wolf's fur?"

"It's a plant." He grunted and let his head fall back onto the pillow as she re wrapped his abdomen. She paused.

"Do you want your shirt back...?" He grunted non-commitedly. She huffed in annoyance and walked away. A few seconds later his shirt was thrown at him. He deftly caught it in his left hand, as he heard the door open. It had been washed and restitched.

"Oh, and if you try to leave I'll kick your ass." He snorted as she closed the door. The graveness of his situation started to sink in as he lay there. He was injured, perhaps permanently, in an absolutely hostile country. He ran a hand down his face as he sighed.

"Why does Ashera hate me...?"

* * *

Lenaya stood with her back against the door, eyes closed. She slowly opened them and set off towards the kitchen. Her..."guest" was probably hungry. At first she hadn't thought he'd make it. It had taken her hours to clean his wound. After she had, somehow, managed that, she had found it to be infected. No doubt from lying on the ground in the forest for an unidentifiable amount of time. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, hearing movement from inside the kitchen. Rilka, her master, was not pleased with her **at all. **He had told her when she came home with the man to leave him be. He had identified him as a mercenary of Crimea. He had a bounty on his head, a sweet seduction for any money needing household. Rilka had wanted to turn him in. She fought back and managed to get him to wait until the man had healed. Perhaps then she could convince him to let the man go.

She breathed in and opened the door, walking into the dimly lit room. Rilka sat at the table with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey, no doubt half empty. Normally she would chastise him and take it away, but she couldn't bring herself to do so now. He had been a General of Daein once, if only for a short time. A young challenger had injured his tendons and now he had trouble walking. Since he had been a valuable man to the late King, he had been given this home in compensation for his services. It was on the outskirts of the village, garnering them no visitors. Just the way they liked it. Father Time had been kind to him, only very slight wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and mouth. He had a dark chocolate shade of hair to his shoulder blades, pulled into a loose ponytail. His eyes were a rich, red tinted mahogany. At one time he had been very fit, a catch for any well mannered lady. Now though, he was a shade of what he had once been. He wore a deep red, almost brown, shirt with black lace at the cuffs and dip in the bust. Underneath one could see white bandages wrapped 'round his torso. His pants were black, with brown leather ankle boots. On his hands were white bandages, crisscrossed with black string. Against the table leaned a walking stick carved from cheery wood, a black stain covering it's grain. The hilt had been carved intricately into a dragon's skull, its spine curling down the staff.

She glanced away when he looked up, moving to prepare the cooking area.

"How is he?" She winced. His voice, usually a honey whiskey sound, was laced with venom. She cleared her throat as she pulled a large stew pot out of the lower cabinet, setting it on the table.

"He's doing better then I expected. His stomach is healing nicely, now if only his skin would do so..." He grunted as he downed another shot. She reached over and shook the bottle gently. More then half empty. She looked at him and he shrugged. She rolled her eyes, tension momentarily forgotten. She walked over to the upper cabinets, hesitating. He glanced up at her.

"What?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. I'm just not sure if he can eat solid food yet....better safe then sorry." She took some dried out meat and vegetables out, as well as some spices. She ran her fingers through them all before deciding on rosemary. She packed the other unneeded spices away, reaching for a bucket by the door.

"I'm getting some water, be right back!" She didn't wait for his reply, walking out the front door after pulling her cloak over her clothes. She pulled up the hood as she closed the door. She walked quickly to the back of the cottage where the well was. She sat the bucket down beside it and moved to the crank the handle, bringing up clear water. She poured it into the bucket she had brought, filling it. She went back into the house emptying the bucket into the pot. She repeated this until the the pot was half full. Then she moved the pot over their small fire pit, going back and filling it completely. After setting the bucket down by the door, she pulled some firewood from a pile in the corner. She rustled around for some matches and lit a small fire. As the fire built the smoke escaped from a small hole in the ceiling straight above it. She sat beside him as she waited for the water to boil, playing with his cane. Her fingers remembered every groove and dip in the wood, having carved it herself.

He had refused to use it at first, saying that he wasn't an invalid old man. He had eventually conceded and now used it 24/7.

"Lenaya." She looked up.

"Mm?"

"The water." She twisted her head around to see it was boiling.

"Oh! Thanks." She set his cane against the table and walked back into the cooking area. She quickly grabbed the dried out meat and ground it to powder, adding in some salt and pepper. She picked up the bowl and walked over to the pot, grabbing a spoon. She carefully emptied the contents into the boiling water, clear liquid turning cloudy. She grabbed a chair and sat in front of the pot, stirring.

"So is any of that mine?" She smiled softly, not turning to face him.

"Unless he has the appetite of a starving bear, of course." He chuckled.

"So how long do you suppose for him to heal?"

"Hm...hard to say. If the rate of regeneration stays constant, two week minimal." She glanced back as he growled.

"What's wrong?" He scoffed.

"Two weeks of having a Crimean around, that's what." She sighed.

"Be happy you don't have to take care of him." He didn't say anything for awhile.

"Then why did you argue against me so viciously to allow him to stay?" She looked down into the swirling pot.

"Chaos. It's all this country is filled with. And it's all King Ashnard's fault." He stayed silent as he listened.

"The Crimean Princess is alive and trying to win back her kingdom. I..." She turned to look at him as she draped her arms over the back of the chair.

"I don't want to live in fear anymore, Rilka." He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"So you wish for this princess to defeat our King?" She sighed, turning back to the stew. She whispered softly as she brought the spoon up, testing how thick it was.

"I want things to change. Whether that requires our King to be dethroned is up to the one who makes the change."

"Whoever it is, they'll be an idiot for trying." She chuckled dryly as she stood and grabbed some bowls and spoons.

"Unfortunately so." She took a ladle and spooned out his food, setting it in front of him. He took a spoonful and watched it fall back into the bowl as she poured one for their guest.

"Does this mean I have to eat what the Crimean eats?"

"Unless you feel like cooking for yourself." She picked up the bowl of stew and walked out of the kitchen into the hallway. She walked up to the door and paused. Should she knock...? Deciding on manners, she gently rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. She heard a muffled "come in", and opened the door. She slinked inside, closing the door behind her. The man, thankfully, still lay on his back. He had managed to get his shirt on, though it was untucked and unbuttoned. His eyes were closed until he walked over to the bedside. His eyes opened, steel hard rubies glaring at her. She huffed.

"Are you always in a bad mood?" He ignored her and glanced at the bowl.

"What's that?" She set it on the bedside table.

"Dinner." He raised an eyebrow, snorting.

"How kind of you."

"Don't thank me yet."

"Eh?" She crawled up onto the bed, a knee on either side of his hips. He sputtered as she reached down and pulled him up by his shoulders. His insults quickly died into a hiss of pain as he became fully seated. She quickly scooted behind him, kneeling so that the top of his head was at her chin. She pushed him back towards him gently so that he was leaning on her.

"What the hell are you **doing**?" She smacked him over the head gently.

"Feeding you. Now hush." She could feel the muscles of his back, tense like a bowstring. She rolled her eyes and moved to put her hands on his shoulders, slowly massaging the tension out of him. She leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Ease up a little, our your muscles will lock up." He growled.

"How am I supposed to ease up with you in my blind spot?!" Despite his protests, his body was slowly becoming mush under her lithe fingers. His eyes closed of their own accord. _Traitor!_, he mentally hissed at his body. His body flipped him off, purring in lazy contentment. Once he was sufficiently relaxed, her fingers left his shoulders and reached for the bowl. She set it in front of him, taking the spoon in her hand. He twitched.

"I can eat on my own, you know."

"Can you?" His eyes smoldered in rage at the insult. He was a full grown man, a mercenary! Of course he could feed himself! His fingers twitched and he shakily raised his hand to take the spoon from her's. Her left hand remained on the bowl, her right going back to his shoulder. He scooped up some of the soup, his hand shaking slightly. He swallowed it, wincing as it went down. The woman behind him murmured an apology. He felt it, more then he heard it.

"I wasn't sure if you could eat solid food, so its a little bland." He grunted, taking another spoonful. Now that he was thinking about it, he could feel all of her delicious curves against his back. He mentally purred, suddenly quite content with his position. His muscles completely relaxed, his body becoming slack, pressing his back further into her. Once he had finished half the bowl, he stopped. She had been rubbing his shoulders again and he was close to passing out in her arms. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against her chest. He felt her move, cracking one eye open. She had set the bowl back onto the bedside table and folded her legs beneath her. He closed his eyes again as her hand came back, petting his hair soothingly. Her other hand lay on his stomach, keeping him upright. He hissed venomous insults at his traitorous body as he buried his head further into her chest. He sighed quietly in defeat. He could always stick her full of arrows later...or something. His breathing had slowed, and he knew he was falling asleep. He felt her move out from behind him, his back meeting the mattress of the bed. He felt her drag the blankets over him, tucking them in around his body to keep him warm through the night. He felt soft lips brush against his forehead, then she took the bowl and left the room, closing the door behind her quietly. He sighed in contentment now that he was alone. A smirk flitted across his face as he drifted off to sleep. Maybe this wasn't **too **bad...


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Rabbit In A Wolf's Den  
**

I'm really sorry! I've practically been ignoring my Fanfiction haven't I? Life has just been really tough for awhile, and my interests have changed somewhat. Some of my other fanfics I've considered discontinuing….I wouldn't delete them, just not update them.

* * *

Lenaya's eyes fluttered open as she heard movement from around her. Groaning softly she pulled herself out from under the veil of unconsciousness. Tensing as she realized she wasn't alone, she nearly flinched when a hand brushed her hair from her forehead. Recognizing her master's touch, she relaxed back into the sheets.

"Rilka? Whatsa matter?" She stifled a yawn as she sat up in her bed, her sheets pooling around her waist. He patted her head as he stood from his kneeling position at her bedside.

"I'm going out for awhile, alright?" Blinking her eyes groggily, she tilted her head up to see him properly.

"Where to?" He paused.

"…just around." Nodding, she did her best to keep her internal sadness from showing.

"'Kay…" He ruffled her hair and walked out; cane in one hand, black cloak draped over the other. As the door closed she sighed, scratching her knotted hair absentmindedly. **When did he stop telling me everything..? **Easing herself out of her bed, a cream satin night gown fell to her ankles. Bunching at her bust and held by thin straps, it had been a gift from her master. She covered a yawn with the back of her hand as she walked over to her wardrobe. Shedding her sleep wear, she changed into her regular attire for the day. A slight chirping caught her attention as she finished and she quickly opened her room's window, inhaling the fresh morning air with a smile. After a quick brushing of her hair she deemed herself ready to face her day, and most importantly, ready to face her patient. Quickly she slipped out of her room and headed towards…well, she didn't know his name, now did she? She'd have to fix that. Feet pausing momentarily, she quickly changed her itinerary towards the kitchen. **Perhaps if I come with a peace offering, he'll be in a better mood. **Chuckling, she set to work cooking up some breakfast. As she prepared the meal, her finely tuned ears were trained on his room. Never could be too safe. A bowl of beef-garlic stew was swiftly procured from the kitchen, a small crust of bread on the side.

Knocking on the door, she waited for his permission to enter. Once granted she slipped in quietly, balancing the bowl on her hip. She closed the door before walking to his bedside, setting the bowl on the nightstand. His ruby eyes were staring listlessly at the ceiling, glazed over by his no doubt lachrymose thoughts. Frowning, she reached out and gently touched his shoulder in concern. His eyes blinked once, emotion flooding back with a strange intensity. Flicking his gaze over to her figure, his glare now resettling into his features.

"What now, woman?" Years of dealing with her master's mood swings was the only thing keeping her eyebrow from twitching in annoyance.

"…never mind. Can you sit up?" A few moments of grumbling and pained grunts was her answer, the sniper quite obviously unable to move willingly. Sighing softly, she slipped one hand under his neck and the other into the dip in his back, gently easing him into a sitting position. Gritting his teeth hard, he made no sound to indicate his pain. She only took her hands away for a split second to retrieve the bowl from the table, sliding in behind him as she had done the day before. His muscles tensed on instinct honed by years of mercenary work. Slowly, very slowly, he forced his muscles to relax against her. A soft smile graced her lips as she saw this, appreciating the minute show of trust from the harsh spoken man. Allowing him to feed himself, she settled comfortably behind him.

"If…you don't mind my asking…"

"Nngh?"

"What's your name?" Feeling his back muscles tense against her, she bit her bottom lip nervously.

"….why is that any business of your's?"

""W-well, it feels just awkward calling you 'that guy', or 'the injured guy', you know?" Silence met her request as he set the spoon back down into the bowl. Nibbling her lip she regretted asking something personal from him.

"Shinon."

"E-eh?" Turning slightly to look down at her, he snorted arrogantly.

"What did you forget your question, woman? My name. It's Shinon." Anger flared inside of her at his words.

"Oh really? Well, **Shinon**, I suggest you start calling me by my actual name." A small snort of disbelief was her reward for threatening him, his soup much more attention catching as he resumed eating.

"Oh yeah? Do something about it then."

"Well I am the one cooking your meals…and changing your bandages…and generally the only person within 20 miles that cares for your well being." A small 'tch' of annoyance assured her she had gotten her point across. Satisfied, she took the brush from the nightstand's drawer and proceeded to unknot his candy pink tresses. The reaction was immediate and she couldn't help but smirk as his back went ramrod straight.

"…what…the hell…?"

"Your hair's knotted from sleeping, I'm just brushing it out for you." She couldn't quite keep her smug grin from slipping into her voice. An angry snarl came from him as he twisted a little to glare at her.

"Well don't." Letting her fingers slip from his deceivingly soft locks, she gazed up at him curiously.

"Why is this bothering you…?" His breath hitched unexpectedly and he quickly turned around. He could feel her curious gaze watching him.

"I'm used to doing these kinds of things for Rilka, it's no hindrance to myself." A soft snort.

"What are you, his slave?"

"Basically."

"…oh." Suppressing a giggle, she resumed her actions upon his poor mangled strands. This time no protest, strange comfortable silence enveloping them.

"So…he like...bought you?"

"Sort of. It's complicated."

"Hn." She could practically hear the gears turning in his mind as she retied his hair back into it's ponytail.

"There, all done."

"Tch, finally." A none too gentle poke in his side was issued as she slipped from behind him.

"Funny." Instead of falling right back as she would have expected, Shinon kept sitting upright by himself. Blinking a few times in confusion, she regarded the arrogant smirk once more painted across his features.

"What happened to the 'defenseless-can't-move-on-my-own' act you had yesterday?" A slight rolling of the shoulders showed his indifference to the matter.

"Mercenaries have to heal fast. With the kind of life we lead, death is always looming over our heads. Thought you'd know that at least, woman." Eyes glittering in barely leashed rage, she grabbed the empty bowl and spoon.

"Fine. Be an asshole." Turning quickly she walked out of his room, taking special care to slam the door so hard the hinges rattled. A low, lazy smirk curled Shinon's lips as he observed her retreating figure. Yep. He could get used to that eye candy in the morning. Especially if she kept provoking him like that. Gently easing himself back down, he fixed his gaze on the ceiling. Last night had given him plenty of time to think about his current situation, and after hours of mental hair pulling and rage fits, he had finally come to the conclusion that he just had to sit put and wait for his freakin' wounds to heal. And he may even have to ask Lenaya for help out of this stinking country. Groaning, he rubbed his face in aggravation. A breeze ruffled his shirt and he looked up out the window, seeing a man walking back to the…house? He had only seen one room of it, so he'd assume that it was a house. The man walked with a slight awkward gait, and Shinon realized he had a cane. Curious, he watched the man walk up the path and approach the house. Strangely he didn't knock, letting himself in. A husky, velvety voice broke through his musings.

"Lenaya, I'm back." A scampering of feet was heard, then soft chuckling and giggling.

"Quite a welcome hug that was, thank you."

"Ehenh. Come on, I made breakfast." He listened as she walked back down to the kitchen. Normally he didn't give a shit about other people's conversations, but he had this nagging suspicion this man was important to his future well being. Shuffling outside his door caused him to strain his ears in an attempt to identify the man. Despite her abuse of the door's hinges (or maybe it was the cause), the door had opened a small crack and allowed him some view of the hall. A shadow fell on the door and Shinon blinked, the man standing right in the crack of the door. His breath froze in his throat as he met the man's eyes. Cold, solid fear crept up his spine and seized his brain. Hard, icey mahogany stared into the room, resting on his now slightly shaking form. Eyes hardening even further, the man gave him a look that could only mean one thing; death was eminent if he remained in this house. His suddenly dry mouth struggled to keep up with his rapid breath, despite having the feeling of suffocation. Heart beating so hard he thought it would burst, he had the fleeting thought that he now knew what a rabbit trapped in a wolf's den felt.

"Rilka, come on! Your food's getting cold!" Those eyes never wavered from him, yet mercifully left as the man walked down to the kitchen. Air intake finally catching up with him, Shinon lay gasping and shivering beneath the sheets of his bed. What on earth had just happened? How could one man, a disabled one at that, have awoken so much fear inside of him? He truly felt like a rabbit that nearly had it's heart burst from fear. He was a mercenary, trained in the art of death, yet that one gaze had nearly reduced him to tears of panic. That had not been the look of a simple man returning from a morning stroll. That was the look of a hardened man with a quick blade and no second chances. That was the look of a Daein general. If that was the truth, then Shinon's chances of surviving this ordeal had just dropped from slim to none.

* * *

So…as I was typing this, I noticed that my style of writing has changed a lot. Maybe since I haven't worked on it for so long, not really sure. Do you guys want me to redo the other chapters? Cause I'm looking at the draft right in front of me, and it's REALLY irking me. Review and tell me please!


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